It's A Sugar Cookie, Asshole
by Lucigoosey The Lightbringer
Summary: Adam's heavy, stifled breathing calmed for a few seconds, staring at him in confusion. It was like the archangel had never seen a cookie before - oh, what was he saying? Of course he hasn't.


**_A/N: _**_Christmas, Christmas time is here~_

_Yes, this is a Supernatural Christmas fic. I got inspired. I was going to do one set with alllll my boys (Adam, Michael, Sam, Dean, etc) but, I haven't finished Soulmates yet and so in an attempt to avoid spoilers I decided that going back in time would be better than going forward in time. So, I hope you enjoy some Adam and Michael Christmas angst/fluff in the Cage._

_Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone! I hope you all have an amazing day!_

* * *

Adam leaned sideways against the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes focused completely on Kate. His mother was grinning, dancing around the kitchen with an apron on - one that had Santa Claus' face printed across the front, with his mouth open, ready to bite down on an already half-eaten cookie - as she sang under her breath to the song playing on the radio. Some old Christmas carol, one that Adam wasn't paying too much attention to. The only thing he could focus on right then was his mother, struggling against the tears threatening to rise to his eyes as she swung herself around to and fro, from the stove to the table, popping pans in and out of the oven. He remembered this Christmas - it was a more recent one. He had just turned… nineteen, he recalled. He had started supporting himself financially, leaving more time for his mother to actually take off work during the holidays. This was one of the few Christmases she was _home_.

He let his gaze trail down to one of the pans she was holding as she carried it over to the table. A bittersweet smile crossed his face - just for a moment - once she'd lowered them down. Shaped like bells and Christmas hats and stockings, several sugar cookies littered the entire pan. She always found a way to squeeze an entire packet of cookie dough into a pan. He never figured out how - his attempts at baking usually ended in disaster anyway. He was alright once he finally got the cookies in the oven, but not making a mess of flour, dough, and just in-general making them all fit in the pan had always been a struggle. He chuckled a little, rubbing his eyes.

He knew he was supposed to be there, in the kitchen, with her - he had been there, frosting the cupcakes and putting sprinkles on the cookies, but he had chosen to take himself out of the memory. He didn't want to see him - he saw enough of him, God knows it… no, his focus was purely on his mother, and there wasn't anything else he wanted to see. Finally bringing up the courage to move forward, Adam carefully rounded the table to the side she had set the cookie pan down on, placing a hand against the table and reaching for the sprinkles with the other. He turned the little bottle over and over in his hands, swallowing down the lump in his throat. There was just something about being back here, in this house - the place it all began, and the place it all _ended_. It was terrifying, it was… _sad_, but it was also so… so nostalgic, he wanted to laugh.

To be completely honest, he missed Christmas.

It had never been one of his favorite holidays. Most of the time he sat alone in his house while his mother worked on Christmas Eve. He put the tree up, he decorated it, he wrapped presents. Kate only got home at midnight, and by then, Adam was fast asleep; the next morning, she was there until ten, meaning he got up at around six to kickstart everything. They opened presents, they talked, and _if _they had enough time, they'd sit down and watch Santa Claus or Polar Express. And then Kate would kiss him goodbye on the cheek and go back to work, and he was alone in the house once again with whatever she could afford to get him. Adam had never been a picky kid - he took what he got with a smile on his face, grateful for whatever it was, and whatever time he was able to spend with her. He wasn't about to complain.

Either way, there were good times, too. Especially this particular year. They had spent the whole day together, baking, cooking, eating, watching as many Christmas movies as possible…

Adam rubbed his thumb over the bottle of sprinkles and looked back over at his mother, still blinking back the tears trying to force their way to his eyes, threatening to spill. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on it from the outside, but also full to bursting from the inside. His stomach twisted, his throat closed up, his eyes stung - still, no tears came. Even the grief couldn't quite amount to the torture he'd endured in the Cage, and to be completely honest, Adam had lost sight of whatever line there _was _between physical and emotional pain. Both of which he was able to withstand, a lot better than he used to. It just took a bit of a struggle now.

His mouth twisted a little, starting to look away again, only to pause when Kate suddenly looked over at him. He froze for a moment, wondering if she could see him - but the thought was dismissed almost immediately with the realization that he had stood in this exact place all those years ago. She wasn't look at him. Not now. She was just a memory, nothing more. Still, despite these thoughts, his chest still offered a violently painful twist when she smiled at him, as warm and as loving as she'd always been. It broke his heart all over again, the tears welling back up.

"Merry Christmas, my little angel," Kate murmured, reaching over the table and cupping her hand around his cheek. He shuddered at the touch, his lower lip beginning to tremble as the tears finally broke free, unable to choke them back anymore. A sharp, muffled sob broke through his lips, and he bit his tongue to keep back the rest, as his mother turned away, blissfully oblivious to the grief exploding in Adam's chest. Unfortunately, releasing that sob, however short, and choked, and muffled it was, was just the key to breaking down the dam; the rest of the water flowed through without his permission, the tears beginning to fall and a quiet, rapid series of sobs and hitching breaths wracking his body as he dropped the sprinkles and hid his face with one arm, the other one steadying himself on the table. He _missed _her, he really did. Sometimes it was easy to forget exactly how much he missed her, to be completely honest. Sometimes he didn't feel much of anything. He could feel his soul twisting, he could feel the darkness spreading through him, and he was terrified of it. Terrified that he was going to lose every bit of feeling he had left, including how much he loved his mother. Terrified he was going to lose that part of him. Maybe it was true, it would hurt a lot less. But he'd rather hurt. He'd rather hurt than not care at all.

How had he gotten himself into this mess? He should've said no. He should've _demanded _Michael returned him to his mother when he had the chance. He should've fought back, he should've explained that he didn't deserve to be yanked out of Heaven and thrust into Hell. And now he was stuck here in a Cage, being tortured, with only the Devil and an archangel for company. Sure, sometimes they weren't such _bad _company, but he'd rather have his mother. And if he couldn't have that, then, honestly? He wished that the Cage would kill him already. He couldn't turn into a monster if he was dead. He couldn't hurt over the loss of his mother, his brothers, _himself _\- if he was _dead_, now could he? Sometimes he wanted the fire to eat him up. Maybe if the Cage killed him, he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.

Or maybe he was already dead.

"You're not… dead."

Adam froze, lowering his arm from his face and looking up. Michael was standing in the doorway, not looking at him. He had his arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging slightly into his ribs, keeping such a tight grip on himself that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. The young man's breathing hitched slightly, not sure whether to be angry or not that the archangel was listening in on his thoughts, or that he had dared to interrupt him, especially now, _now_, when he was breaking. It was an invasion of privacy - which sounded silly, considering the guy was in his head, but still. Regardless, even as he tried to be angry, to work up some sort of rage toward the archangel, the only thing he felt was hollow. His chest still ached, still brimming with grief and pain, but that was reserved solely for when he was alone. At least, it should be. He didn't want to display such vulnerability around Michael. The archangel already saw him when he was being tortured; he'd held him, screaming and crying, as the flames consumed him. Adam wasn't about to give the archangel yet another reason to see him as a weak human.

A flicker of guilt crossed Michael's face, but it was masked quickly, mouth twisting sharply as he finally flicked his gaze back up to the young man, and then toward Kate, who was still just moving cheerfully around the kitchen, setting glops of cookie dough onto another pan. Adam looked over at her again, then winced and tore his gaze away, looking down and trying to will the memory to disappear. It made it harder to stifle the pain burning through his chest.

Ever so slowly, Michael started forward. Adam looked back over, tensing slightly and leaning back as the archangel approached, opening his mouth to ask what he wanted - but he couldn't force the words out, and he found himself deflating, breathless, when Michael paused on the other side of the table and leaned forward, across from him, to reach for one of the cookies. Adam recoiled, despite wanting to protest, watching the archangel tentatively pry one of the cookies off of the pan with two fingers, holding it up carefully as if it was going to fall apart in his hand, before leaning back and bringing the cookie closer to his face to inspect it, blinking.

Adam's heavy, stifled breathing calmed for a few seconds, staring at him in confusion. It was like the archangel had never seen a cookie before - oh, what was he saying? _Of course he hasn't._ He ran his tongue over his lips, shifting slightly where he stood, uncertain, for a good second or so - before finally mustering up a little bit of strength to spit out, "it's a sugar cookie, asshole. It's not going to spontaneously combust in your hand or anything." Despite his harsh words, he had a somewhat bewildered tone to match the puzzled expression on his face. And Michael hardly reacted, anyway, just blinking slowly at him as if he didn't quite understand. "You eat it."

"Ah- no," Michael corrected carefully, lowering the cookie with a frown. "_You _eat it. Though I'm not really sure what the appeal is." He blinked down at it, turning it over in his hand. "Perhaps it has something to do with me being an angel, and not having an appetite, per se- but I have to admit that it doesn't look very, um…" He trailed off for a moment, wincing as he continued on somewhat apologetically, "... appetizing, I should say…" He trailed off, and Adam stared.

"That's not…" Then he lowered his gaze to the cookie, and frowned.

Well, the archangel wasn't _wrong_, exactly. While he knew for a fact that his mother's cookies were literally the best thing in existence, he also had to admit that right then, it didn't look particularly appetizing. It wasn't covered in sprinkles, it wasn't decorated - it was just plain and bare, and in all honesty, it would taste just as dull as it looked. He wrinkled his nose a little, frowning slightly at the cookie, and then back at the archangel. Then, with a low, shaky sigh, the young man rubbed his arm over his eyes and reached down for one of the other cookies in the pan - a stocking-shaped one - and held it flat in the palm of his hand, grabbing the sprinkles. Michael set his own cookie down on the table, leaning forward to watch him curiously.

Adam ignored his intense gaze, moving away from the table briefly to grab a container of frosting, glazing it over the top of the cookie carefully - but making sure not to use too much, since sugar cookies kind of lost their appeal when frosting came into the mix. Just enough to make the sprinkles stick to the top. He did the sprinkles next, alternating between green and red, sprinkling the red across 'top' of the stocking and covering the rest in green. Then, when he was finally satisfied that the cookie no longer looked bare and disgusting, he held it out to Michael, a mixture of exhausted, irritated, and yet somehow amused at the expression on the archangel's face, something caught between amazement and bewilderment.

"Appetizing enough for you now, halo?"

"I don't have a halo," Michael remarked, eyebrows furrowing, as he reached out to take the cookie from him. Adam allowed him to do so, surprisingly relaxed with the archangel's company, and leaned back with a curious expression as Michael looked down at the cookie. There would be no use in eating it, and they were both well aware of this; Adam may remember what it would taste like, but he'd never be able to recreate that even in his own head, and Michael probably wouldn't even taste anything if it were real anyway. Regardless, in the end, the archangel put the cookie back down and flashed a small smile toward the young man, tentative and uncertain. "Alright, Adam Milligan… I will admit that it looks much more appetizing now."

Adam's lips quirked upwards for a second, a flicker of amusement flitting across his face. The explosive pain from earlier had faded into nothing more than a dull ache, frighteningly easy to push aside for the time being in favor of focusing on the archangel. As he looked away to continue decorating the cookies - more for his own entertainment than anything - he missed the slight grin that flashed across Michael's face, stifled all too easily by the calm mask the archangel put up by the time Adam looked up again. "You know, you can just say _Adam. _All that formal shit, I mean… it's kind of useless by now, I guess, isn't it?"

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, crossing his arms over the table and leaning his weight forward against it, careful not to move it, lest he somehow mess up Adam's careful cookie precision. "Well… perhaps," he began slowly. "You and I have been together for at least…"

He didn't finish, and Adam didn't want him to. He didn't want to know anymore.

Michael stared at him for a long time, ever so silent, then suddenly cleared his throat - causing the young man to jump - and extended a hand forward, palm up, looking toward the frosting and sprinkles on the table. "I do believe it's my turn to try and decorate a cookie, Adam," the archangel told him wryly, a smile appearing on his face. "Though, maybe you should walk me through it, just to be safe." At this, Adam couldn't help but huff out a small laugh, his grief once again forgotten for the time being. Looking down, he lightly plucked up the container of frosting, handing it over to the archangel, then shouldered himself away from the table and headed over to the cabinet they kept the sprinkles in, pulling it open with a sigh. "If you don't mind, that is," the archangel added innocently, tilting his head to the side and giving Adam a sweet smile.

Ah, how that smile spoke of deceit, and yet it spoke of protection, and affection, and care. Adam would grow to realize that most of Michael's actions came from a place of caring. Only one of them was aware of it at the time, but that kindness was something Michael had learned from Adam, and it was something that the archangel would carry with him even long after the Cage - if only temporarily - twisted most of Adam's out of him. And that was fine, because, when that happened, Michael would be the one to show him how to care again.

Adam didn't notice when Kate faded out of the memory, leaving just him and Michael in his old kitchen, decorating Christmas cookies for no other reason than their own entertainment. And to be completely honest, they were both kind of okay with this.


End file.
